


Ornaments of Gold - Part 2

by thecountessolivia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, King Will, M/M, Possessive Will, Rimming, Scheming Hannibal, Seductive Servant Hannibal, Sequel, Sex Toys, Spanking, Young Hannibal, mild Dom/Sub, other characters mentioned briefly, piles of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: The court has plans for Will's future.So does Hannibal, the king's much favoured new servant.Sequel to"Ornaments of Gold"





	1. Chapter 1

Dinner hadn't been served because the Vergers were late.

Everyone knew this, of course, but the siblings' spectacular faux-pas bobbed about unacknowledged in the sea of polite chatter filling the dining hall. Will could almost picture the guts of every courtier assembled around his table cringing with hunger and unspoken embarrassment.

Will didn't cringe. Unspeakably, he welcomed the stall to the evening's festivities like a long lost friend. Every minute that the Vergers' party failed to show at the palace gate afforded the king that which he would never otherwise obtain in the course of his day: the opportunity to retreat into his own mind. And for once the councillors sitting at Will’s sides seemed reluctant to pry their lord out of his silence, which they likely ascribed to ordinary irritation.

But while the conversations and the strumming of mandolins carried on around him, Will stared down at the smeared reflection in the empty plate before him and transported himself back to the day's early morning hours, and to his bed chamber. Waiting for him there was the scent of a sex-warmed bed and a newly kindled fire; and the hush of early dawn broken only by his own cries of pleasure and the sweet suckling sounds spun from the mouth of the king’s favourite new servant.

Several weeks had passed since the arrival at court of the gold-wearing young captive. Since then, a kind of fever lit itself inside Will and licked at the pit of his belly without reprieve. The fever spiked whenever he glimpsed his servant about the palace; and combusted into cinders whenever Will had him behind the locked doors of his chamber, and in his royal bed.

Will, who had long presumed his libido stunted or at times entirely missing, now came to realise that it had merely been misplaced — that is, until Hannibal returned it to him on a golden platter from which Will had been feasting ever since.

It was just as well, Will told himself at first, that Hannibal seemed content to adhere to the rules and demands of a servant's life. He spent his days in the kitchens, where Will had originally posted him; and in the mornings and evenings attended to his liege. He performed all the tasks expected of a good chamber aide — tidying, ablutions, dress — with enthusiasm, skill and measured grace. And he still refused to share Will's bed, excusing himself every night to the small servant's closet adjoining Will's quarters. That was fine. Will didn't need the distraction of near-perpetual arousal. And he didn't need whispers and rumours.

But more and more, losing sight of Hannibal at the start of each day made Will sore. And the nature of their daily separation, filled with Hannibal's ceremonial bows and aloof pleasantries — as if he hadn't been bending that dextrous body for Will's pleasure mere hours before — grated Will even more. Was all that fucking just another duty to be carried out with enthusiasm, skill and measured grace?

"Do you think about me?" Will had asked that morning, face buried in the bristling field of warmth that was Hannibal's chest, body held in the snug fold of Hannibal's long legs. The thought of their imminent parting sat like the leaf of a bitter herb on his tongue.

"The thought of you compels my every breath and action,” Hannibal had replied.

"Prove it. Let me see it. Wear— wear something."

Hannibal had slinked down to kiss him. "Wear something. On me?" he asked, then reached to the night table for the rippling golden toy with which Will so loved to fuck him. "Or inside me?"

The fever in Will's belly broke loose.

"Both," he'd answered.

A few fevered kisses later, he had Hannibal's mouth around his cock.

After that, distraction was the order of the day. Hannibal helped Will wash and dress and departed as usual, leaving Will with his whole head ablaze.

Would Hannibal really do it? When? How? Would he sneak back into Will's chambers at midday, slick and fill himself up, maybe jerk off while he did it to dampen the nagging pleasures of the toy? Would he think about Will while he did it, would he get off on the thought of being sealed up in this fashion for his lord? And then he’d set out to parade about the palace, full to the brim, waiting, just waiting for Will to catch a glimpse of him and affirm through a shared look their filthy private secret of the oiled up phallic treasure shoved inside Hannibal's perfect little...

"I hear Lady Verger is an accomplished equestrian."

Will jerked, summoned back into the present moment. His dinner napkin had tented in his lap.

He looked up, shifting in his chair. Lady Bloom was watching him with a courteous smile, awaiting a response.

Will tried to restrain a grimace. Not only had she interrupted his musings, she'd had the gall to reel him back to the purpose of the Vergers' visit. For it was no secret that tonight was to be the start of the latest campaign by the court to find Will a suitable marital match. Lady Bloom might as well have slapped him.

"You'd think an accomplished equestrian would have chosen some faster horses," Will sniped and gestured to Crawford, who nodded in acknowledgement of the king's mounting annoyance.

The Vergers' delay had indeed extended beyond what could be deemed excusable. Crawford summoned his footman, who in turn sent for the page girl, who was to ask the messenger to ride out into the night to try and try to get word on what was behind the tardiness. There was no need — the doors creaked open and the breathless page dashed in. Her message travelled back quickly to the head of the royal table.

"The Verger party sends their profound apologies. Lady Verger has taken ill and they've had to turn back," Crawford announced without a hint of disappointment. On the contrary, the prospect of imminent dinner seemed to make him jovial. "Well, sire — shall we then?"

Will gave a wave of assent and the machine of the court, so awkwardly put on pause, started up again at once. In a matter of minutes, the doors to the great hall opened and the servers entered, followed by kitchen staff carrying food and drink.

And there, marching at the head of that rank which lined itself along the side of the dining table, perfectly poised with his large silver tray of still steaming meat, was Hannibal.

He wore, as he always did outside Will’s rooms, the standard issue attire of a palace servant: stiff collared black blouse, plain brown leather britches. The black stockings about his slim calves hid and silenced the bells on his ankles. Just another young man, indistinguishable from the rest of the kitchen crew, but for his stark features and for that which made Will's blood rush suddenly and wildly about his body: the small red ribbon of dyed leather tied in a bow at his waist. The sign. He had done as he’d promised.

Will snatched his eyes away. Already he'd stared more than he'd intended. Any longer, and others will surely have taken notice where the king's gaze was drawn and the blush that was blazing up into his cheeks. He fixed his eyes down the length of the table instead and tried desperately not to glance again at the cool and collected captive who stood behind the chairs of the highest nobility in the land with his pert ass secretly stretched and filled with a golden plug.

Will's heart beat furiously in his chest and his dinner napkin remained displaced by the heat pooling in his lap. He feared what the heat in his face might betray, but he counted on his couriers being distracted by the panoply of delicacies being set down before them.

Hannibal's dish was collected from him by the server boy and sat down at the head of the table to a low murmur of approval. The richly scented meat sat nestled in an inverted ribcage of some animal, like the cargo of a ship hull made of bones. Blooming sage climbed about the bones, its delicate purple blossoms raining down on the persimmons, physalis and gold-dipped ivy which ringed the meat like a festive autumn crown. It was the most exquisite dish Will could ever remember being served at his table.

The meat was cut, sliced and slid onto silver plates. "This is something else," Crawford said after the first mouthful. "Have we found new cooks?"

"So we have," said Lady Bloom. "It seems one of the chefs has recently abandoned his post. Oh, what was his name?"

"Wasn't it Franklyn?" offered Lady Crawford.

"Ah, yes. Fortunately, the kitchens have found an outstanding replacement."

Crawford glanced back over his shoulder, following the path of Lady Bloom's warm and easy smile. Will followed it too, and his heart sunk an inch in his chest when he saw where the smile had settled.

"This one here?" Crawford nodded to Hannibal, who was just about to march out of the hall.

Lady Bloom inclined her head. Her approving eyes refused to budge from their target and Will wanted to sink his nails into the wood of the table, or twist his fork into his thigh.

"Step forward, boy," Crawford said.

Hannibal moved smoothly out of his rank and approached the back of Crawford's chair. He bowed from the waist, hands demurely folded.

"Did you prepare this dish yourself?"

"I did, commander."  
  
"Pig, is it?"  
  
"It is. A particularly large specimen which, I am told, enjoyed gorging on cheese. I believe you will find the unusual diet has given the meat a unique and rich flavour. "

"Certainly the best pig I've ever had. Nice sauce, too."

"Thank you, commander. A blood reduction with stewed persimmon, cinnamon and apple brandy."

"Bravo, Hannibal," Lady Bloom said, and hearing that name in the mouth of another curdled something in Will's throat.

He looked directly at Hannibal, as if with a look he could extract some answers. Just how did Hannibal manage to climb through the complex hierarchy of the kitchen without Will's intervention and knowledge? And, for that matter, where had his fine red ribbon come from? Will hadn't given him any gifts, nor money to buy himself anything, having been mindful about signs of impropriety and favouritism. Had Hannibal found himself another patron, one with a warm and easy smile?

Hannibal kept his eyes downturned. He bowed again in thanks, then stepped back in his place. The procession from the kitchen was dismissed at last and filed out of the dining hall. Hannibal was the last to depart and Will had to watch that long, dance-like stride, and the bounce of the red bow at Hannibal's hip whispering to Will of the secret he carried inside him.

Cheered by the arrival of the feast, conversations picked up around the sullen king. Will stared again into his filled plate. He needed to stick his knife in something, so he stuck it into the meat. 

The warm morsel melted under his blade, and in his mouth. It was beyond tender, beyond exquisite. It was a kiss from Hannibal's own mouth.

The feast ended, and Will hoped for a quick and uninterrupted escape back to his rooms. Having shaken off the inane chit-chat and unsubtle favour begging of various tipsy courtiers, he proceeded up the stairs towards the refuge of his rooms.

At the top of the landing he found Lady Bloom in the company of her attendants — not by chance, Will suspected. On seeing him, she dismissed her women, curtsied with a smile. Warm and easy.

“Sire, you may wish to know that the Verger visit has been rescheduled for seven days hence."

Of course it had been.

"Very well," Will muttered, though it wasn't. He hoped that would put an end to the exchange, but Lady Bloom lingered, gently obstructing his way. She wore a ravishing gown of orange and crimson silk that dripped from her bare shoulders in abstract geometric patterns. Will scanned it for some trim of red leather, but found none.

"Is there anything troubling you, sire?" she said carefully after a moment.

"Tired, Lady Bloom. It's been a long evening."

"Duty takes its toll."

"Something like that."

"Sometimes our duties make us think we must sacrifice more than we need to."

Will stared at her. "Do they?"

She took a step closer, beaming with a fondness that made Will uneasy. “I only hope that you know, sire, that finding a consort need not mean the end of certain ... friendships."

Will found himself speechless. She didn't mean herself. She couldn't mean—

She mistook his silence for permission to continue. “The court has long tolerated discreet confidences between those of different birth and rank. There is no reason why this tolerance shouldn't extend to your person.“

Will wanted nothing more than to end this conversation, and quickly. Lady Bloom's pronouncement, undoubtedly intended to be helpful, felt like the evening's last straw.

“How is Lady Verger?" he said too sharply. "Any word?”

“Recovering, I’m told. I'm sure she greatly regrets missing tonight’s feast and looks forward to finally making your acquaintance.”

“You assume too much, Alana," Will said. "Lady Verger may yet reject me."

 _After all, you did_ , he almost added. But what good would that do?

And with that, he made his escape.

The ambience of his chambers was a stark contrast to his mood, which sat like a pile of black ashes in the pit of his stomach where the fever of earlier had burned.

The rooms had been aired, the bed turned down, the fires and lanterns lit. Will was greeted by the scent of cedar, crisp evening air and new linen. The dogs, exercised and fed, huffed and twirled their happy dance of welcome around his feet.

Will flung his cloak aside and marched himself to the hearth. He leaned against the mantle and peered into the flames.

 _Come to me_ , he wanted to say.

"Come out," he said instead. "And come here."

He heard a soft rustling, as of fabric sliding over bare skin. Then came the patter of bare feet, and the sweet song of tiny golden bells.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The song of the bells came closer and stopped. Warm hands touched the small of Will's back, then moved to encircle his waist. The voice that tickled his ear was just as warm, with a hint of metal and rust.

"And how shall we unburden you tonight from the day’s toil, sire?"

Despite the shiver that ran through him, Will jerked away from the touch. He turned, ready to scold and complain — only for his breath to stall in his lungs.

Hannibal stood before him, cast in the golden light of the fire. He had shed his servant's uniform and wore instead a long robe that wrapped his body in streams of lustrous red silk. Swirls of gold lace glinted at his sleeves, and the collar opened low over his chest and the tight curls that grew there. Hair fell in strands over the severe bones of his cheek and brow, a soft canopy for eyes that smiled at Will, bright and watchful, as Hannibal arranged himself into a courtly bow of greeting.

Something snapped inside Will at the show of formality from this calm, beguiling creature who had draped himself in finery that had certainly not come from the king's purse.

"Where did you get this?" he said, almost a hiss. "The robe."

A peculiar look — part pleased, part curious — slid over Hannibal's features, there and gone in an instant. “Your mistress of wardrobe unburdened herself to me about her betrothed's many faults and betrayals," he said. "When I gave her some common sense advice, she offered to pay me. I asked that she make this for me instead."

Nothing in that seamlessly delivered explanation shifted Will's foul mood. So that's where the little ribbon at Hannibal's hip had come from: a newly acquired confidant. What was it that Will felt? Bitterness and a strange sense of betrayal seemed to make up the bulk of the black ash in his gut. He sidestepped Hannibal and made for the bed.

“Sounds like you've been finding plenty of company outside these walls," he said, waving an arm at the doors to his chamber, and at the world of the palace beyond. "Maybe that's where you belong. Out there, where you're doing so much good."

Hannibal, who'd been following Will's every move, swallowed visibly.

"Have I overstepped my station, sire?"

Will replied with a shrug and began to unlace his boots, a task Hannibal tended to nightly with meticulous attention.

Hannibal took a cautious step forward, bare feet so light against the stone floor that the bracelets at his ankles stayed silent.

"That which we disapprove of in others is often the very thing we cannot possess ourselves. Does the freedom I possess as a captive of the court exceed the freedom you are allowed as its king?"

Will shot him a glare. Hannibal's words had struck so precisely, that all he could do was deflect them. "Don't make this about me. You didn't tell me a damn thing about what you've been getting up to at court. Why?"

"Conversations with cooks and seamstresses. They could hardly have been of interest to your royal ear."

"And conversations with Alana Bloom? Are those of interest to me?"

Hannibal paused in his approach, just out of Will's reach. He stood poised and silent, a crimson silhouette backlit by the flames.

Will couldn't read his expression and the lack of reply grated him.

"Well? Did you tell her we were fucking, Hannibal?"

"Lady Bloom is an astute observer," Hannibal said finally, the calm of his voice undisturbed. "Whatever glances have passed between you and me at court must have caught her attention. She approached me several days ago and asked if I was devoted to my new master."

"And you told her what exactly?”

"I told her that your royal highness has worship and devotion in abundance. What he needs is a friend, and that I intend to be one, if he would have me."

An ache bloomed in Will's chest, deeply rooted, heavy and ancient. He stared down at the tangle of laces coiled about his fingers.

"A friend," he said quietly.

Hannibal took another cautious step forward, close enough for Will to catch his scent, that herb and moss and wild rose musk of something born in a dark wood. He slid to his knees and put his hand over Will's wrist. The robe pooled about him like freshly spilled blood.

"A friend, yes," he murmured, pulling Will free of his boots with his spare hand. "Lady Bloom's reply to me was one of kindness and understanding. I suspect she has tried to be your friend. Was she shut out, sire? Were others?”

Will snatched his hand from the warm grip at his wrist. His jaw tightened.

“Don’t— don’t ask about that.”

Hannibal only watched him. After a moment, he touched Will's hand again. He began to stroke in little circles, caressing the soft skin between index and thumb.

The foul clouds of Will's mood began to thin. He felt himself sinking into the lull of his surroundings: the hush of the vaulted rooms, the crackle of the fire, the soothing caress of the bright-eyed servant knelt at his feet. Hannibal's gaze and touch struck against each other like flint and sparked the familiar warmth inside him, the first tingling flash of arousal.

"From now on," Will said, "you're going to tell me everything. Everything you do at court. That's an order."

Hannibal shifted closer into the space between Will's legs. The bells chimed, the silk rustled.

"And I shall obey without question," he replied. "But know, sire, that all I have done thus far during our hours apart has been with you in mind. From assuring your courtiers of my intentions, to improving the quality of food that goes in your belly, to asking your tailors to dress me in things that would please you." Hannibal tugged at Will's hand and brought it down to rest against the robe's silken sleeve. "Does this please you?" he asked softly.

Will's hand twitched. He slid it up slowly, over gold lace trim and smooth skin-warmed fabric. He wrapped it around the column of Hannibal's neck and squeezed. He held his grip until blood coloured the hard jut of Hannibal's cheekbones, until Hannibal's eyes widened and his lips parted, demanding breath. Will let go and heard a faint gasp of relief. He swept his fingertips against that soft split mouth. Then he pushed inside.

Three of his fingers sunk completely into wet heat. He pressed them flat against the living muscle of Hannibal's tongue, buried them deeper until his knuckles nearly brushed against Hannibal's lips.

A groan spilled from Hannibal's throat and rippled through the small bones of Will's hand. He closed his eyes, hollowed out his cheeks, and started to suck.

Will's face felt hot, his own breath constricted. The swelling wave of want was making him dizzy. He watched Hannibal: the almost ecstatic quality of his expression, the rhythmic forward tilt of his neck as he pulled hard, lips glistening and red about Will's flesh, their colour and texture uncannily like the robe. Will dragged his free hand over the shimmering silk, scraped the heel of his palm against the roughness of peeking chest hair, felt with his thumb for the tight little gem of Hannibal's nipple. He circled until he felt it harden. Then he pinched through the cloth.

Hannibal sighed sharply and looked up at Will, gaze dreamy and dark.

"And another thing," Will said, twisting and tugging. "From now on, you'll only wear what I give you. Understand?"

Hannibal nodded once. His eyes seemed to smile, narrowing slightly into that same pleased expression Will had seen earlier. His tongue flicked between Will's fingers and he sucked harder. He looked blissful, utterly content. Will looked down and saw the silk raised up obscenely in his lap. An image came to him, too strong to resist.

"Touch yourself for me," he said quietly.

Hannibal reached down at once and parted the robe to reveal his cock, stiff and flushed between folds of red cloth. He gripped the shaft and held it, awaiting further command.

"No," Will said and shoved his fingers in deeper, until he could touch the back of Hannibal's throat. "Do it through the robe. Stain it. Ruin it."

Hannibal's breath came in a hot rush against Will's hand. Will heard another short groan and felt the scrape of sharp teeth against his skin, the spasming clutch of Hannibal's throat.

The wet tug of Hannibal's mouth only tightened. He draped his cock as instructed and gripped it firmly at the base, fine thin silk clinging to every rigid outline. He began to move his palm in slow swirling motions over the sheathed head.

Will watched the first dark patch of precome bloom through the silk. His own cock ached and strained in the confines of his trousers. He pulled his fingers free, wiped them roughly against Hannibal's mouth and gripped his jaw.

Hannibal gasped, eyes still closed, cheeks flushed. He stroked himself fully now — it must have chaffed and burned, even through the delicate red veil.

"At dinner. Did you really— in front of everyone?" Will asked.

"I did, sire."

"Tell me how it felt."

"Heavy. Like a tether between us. A distracting sense of connection. I felt it always, even when I stood very still. When I saw you at the feast, you looked for a moment just as you do when you put it inside me. The pleasure is—" Hannibal paused to exhale, tongue flicking over his lips, shoulders rising and tensing as he stroked himself faster. "It's made me sore."

Will's own breath left him in a shudder. "You mean—"

Hannibal looked up at him, eyes barely parted and hazy. "You never commanded me to take it out."

"Fuck. Hannibal."

The silk slid with a soft hiss over Hannibal's cock, soaking through, spreading the stain. "May I take it out now, sire?" he murmured.

Will clasped Hannibal's face and bent down to kiss him with a needy groan. He thrust in with his tongue, full of hunger, between lips still swollen from his fingers.

When he finally pulled away, he was almost panting. 

"Stand up," he said.

Hannibal rose carefully, by inches. Will saw now how awkwardly he moved, weighed down and sore. He threw the folds of the robe apart, tugged Hannibal closer and groped gracelessly around his thighs, up and between Hannibal's cheeks until his fingers found and skid on the rounded tip of the toy. The gold was still slick with oil and hot from the clasp of Hannibal's body. 

"Don't take it out," Will said roughly. "I'll do it for you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just smut. 
> 
> And in case you haven't figured this out already: in this AU, Will really really REALLY loves the Hannibutt.

Will got him to his feet, turned him, and pushed him up against a bedpost. He fisted a handful of silk at the small of Hannibal's back and, with a tug, snatched the robe away from his body to reveal expanses of warm golden skin. Then he took a step back to take in the view.

All through Will's manoeuvring Hannibal had remained utterly pliant. Arms wound about the bedpost, he now watched Will over his shoulder with pleased, half-mast eyes. His body shifted: a slight parting of the legs, a subtle dip of the spine, all executed the better to lift and offer up to Will the soft round ass that still held clasped within it the gleaming shaft of the toy.

Will scrunched the robe in his hands and bit hard at his lower lip. His cheeks burned, his cock ached, and his brain galloped in every direction, pursuing possibilities. He could twist the robe into a rope and whip the creamy swell of Hannibal's ass. He could grab for the golden plug and pull it out too rashly. He could fuck himself into Hannibal's overstretched body, with abandon and without finesse, against the bedpost, on the bed, on the knee-bruising stone floor.

Any of it — all of it — would be welcomed and encouraged.

Will's court applauded and rewarded reason and restraint. The stability of his reign relied on cunning and control. Here, in the cloistered and increasingly secretive world of his quarters, Will ruled over a servant who thrilled at that which would have doomed the king elsewhere: the baser, the darker, the unhinged things. But the anger Will felt at Hannibal's delight only served to stoke his want.

He looked down and found he'd balled the robe in his hands into a glistening red heart.

"Wait here," he said. "Don't move."

He was conscious of Hannibal watching him as he stepped up to the hearth, and so he made a show of throwing this beautiful garment, this gift from another, onto the flames. The silky fodder unspooled and sailed down into the fire. The threads hissed and singed and perished into nothingness in seconds.

Hannibal didn't move, said nothing. But a smile, as pleased as it was restrained, stayed tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Will moved in close again and took him by the hips, fingers hooked into loops of golden chains and pressed into the hard jut of bone.

"The next thing you'll put on your body will come from me. Nothing until then."

"Yes, sire."

"The toy. Tell me how you did it. Earlier."

Hannibal's forearms folded against the bedpost, a pillow for his cheek. He blinked back at Will, eyes dreamy, dark, and wet. His skin burned against Will’s palms.

“After you took your leave this morning, I undressed again and bent myself over the bed," he murmured. "I imagined that you stood behind me, as close as you are now, and that you ordered me down to my hands and elbows."

"So that I could watch?"

"Mm. I saw you circling, observing. I heard your demands and instructions whilst I oiled and stretched myself wide. You wouldn't allow the toy inside me until you were satisfied I was ready. After all, wouldn't you want me just so, sire?"

Will shut his eyes and swayed forward. He felt the damp puff of his breath dissipate against Hannibal's shoulder and exchange itself for a lungful of hot scented skin. He reached for the ties of his trousers and, loosening them to give himself some relief, adjusted the straining bulge of his cock. "Keep talking," he hissed. "Then what?"

The arch of Hannibal's back deepened and his ass hitched up, inches from Will's crotch. The smooth cheeks squeezed in, dimpling at the sides to grip about the heavy golden plug they carried.

"Then I lined up the toy behind me. I imagined the brute force of your arm as you drove it in with a single thrust, like a stake through a heart, without mercy. I ached, but felt as if I'd been filled to the brim with your desire to have me just as you want me."

Will's teeth curled back from his lips and he snapped lightly at the ball of Hannibal's shoulder, as if the bite could dull the sharp urges demanding his attention. He slid his fingers between Hannibal's cheeks, stroking the smooth round handle of the plug. "Did you get off while you did it?"

Hannibal sighed softly and inched back, seeking contact. There were drops of sweat at the small of his back, beading between the links of fine gold chains about his waist. "I did. And then again later, when I had a moment, in the kitchen privy. I had hoped in the course of the day you might find me in some dark corner, pull down my breeches and inspect me. Adjust me. But seeing your eyes at the feast was just as enthralling.”

Will twisted his wrist, tugging at the toy. "Why am I so rough with you in your fantasies, Hannibal? Is violence what you want from me?"

Something darkened in Hannibal's eyes. "When you use me for your pleasure, I see glimpses of you, unchecked by the banal machinery of this court," he said. "Small discomforts and humiliations are a price I would gladly pay to bear witness to the fearsome beauty of your power. When you are free to indulge yourself, you are intoxicating."

Will jerked at the toy’s handle and watched Hannibal's body spasm to protect itself from pain. "But only to whatever degree you find fascinating or amusing, isn't that so?" he said. "You've barely stopped smirking all evening. What if I indulged myself outside of this little carnal sandbox you've designated for me?"

Hannibal's throat seemed to tighten. His breath shortened. "What did you have in mind, sire?"

"What if I hit you?"

A little spark flared up in Hannibal's eyes. "My flesh is at your service," he whispered.

“And what if I indulged my unchecked power by sending you away? Maybe you'd like to service my stables?”

Hannibal smirked again. "How often would you visit, sire? Do you suppose I would make an adequate mount?"

"No, Hannibal. I wouldn't visit. I'd make sure you stayed there for good, out of my sight."

All expression vanished from Hannibal's face, as if it had retracted back into his brain. His sharp features betrayed nothing, though his lips had stayed faintly parted, as if startled. Will wondered if this was how Hannibal looked when he was afraid. The silence between them stretched.

"Don't put yourself on the receiving end of the worst in me, Hannibal," Will said at last. "There are some who might deserve me at my worst, but you're not one of them."

That brought motion back into Hannibal's features. The lines around his eyes and mouth softened. "I am pleased to hear it," he said, his voice low and gentle.

Will couldn't help himself. He pressed whole against Hannibal's body, wrapped a hand about the warm column of his throat, and leaned in for a kiss.

The sweetness, the tenderness of it overwhelmed him, as it always did. They lingered like this, mouths lightly locked and languid, and all of Hannibal’s petty transgressions melted on their mingled lips and tongues.

Will slid a hand down to lift and caress Hannibal's cock with loose strokes. He tugged again at the plug, gently this time.

"Ready?"

"Yes," Hannibal hissed against Will's mouth. "Yes, please, sire. Please."

Will tightened his grip and felt Hannibal tense and brace. On the next tug, they both groaned together. Ripple by ripple, exquisitely slowly, the golden plug slid from Hannibal's body, furnace hot, still slick and gleaming with excess oils. Hannibal's thighs shook. He dropped his face into the crook of his arm and panted softly.

Will felt unsteady on his feet. He tossed the toy on the bed and reached down to gently part Hannibal's cheeks. He wanted so much to see what he had done to his devoted servant.

Hours of dutifully carrying about the weight of Will's command had left Hannibal's hole hot and tender, not quite closed up. Will's fingers traced about the smoothly shorn rim, skidding on remnants of oil, slipping just inside. Hannibal's soreness seemed to spill into his own skin. Loosened and reddened and still slick, the little pucker looked beyond delicious, ready to be spoiled and soothed after all its toils. Will felt dizzy with a filthy greed that made his mouth water.

"You've done so well," he rasped against Hannibal's ear.

Hannibal let out a clipped sigh, still quivering beneath Will's touch. "Thank you, sire."

"What's it feel like?"

"Sore. And almost unbearably empty."

"I won't leave you like this."

"Will you take care of me? Have I earned my reward?"

"Get on the bed. Sit on my chest. Face away."


End file.
